Little Things
by TwisterJester
Summary: Sydney and Nigel get in over their heads when they meet someone whose love charm has unexpected consequences.
1. Love Is a Many Splintered Thing

_This story opens with a disclaimer: If you are easily offended, look away now. Because this little bit of absurdity is warped, twisted, off-kilter, and just plain bizarre. Read at your own risk! Sydney and Nigel get in over their heads when they encounter a man whose love charm has unexpected consequences._

**One   
****Love is a many splintered thing!**

"Hi, I'm here to see Sydney Fox. I'm a private dick." 

Karen gazed up at the pudgy incarnation of the Pillsbury Doughboy. The self-proclaimed PI was one step away from being a pure albino and less than that from Karen slapping him. He introduced himself by sitting on the corner of her desk. In the process, a stack of papers, her pencil cup, the handset to her phone, and her coffee cup all landed on the floor. The latter did so with the crash of broken pottery. 

Fuming, but still determined to maintain a veneer of civility, Karen stood. "Mr. -?" 

"Little. Dick Little," he supplied, whipping out a dog-eared business card. When his sleeve retracted, it revealed a silver ID bracelet marked _Dickie_, from which dangled a small signet. An oriental character was etched into the surface of the charm. 

When she reached for the card he tucked it back into his pocket. 

"Mr. Little, Professor Fox isn't in, and there's a chair – " she gestured toward the leather seat just inside the office door, "Where I'm sure you'll be more comfortable." 

Apparently he read beneath the veneer, because he slid off the desk. "Anything for you, Babe." 

Karen counted to twenty-five. At ten, she was still counting ways to maim him. "Mr. Little, I'm not at all certain when the professor will be in. I'm Sydney's secretary. May I help you?" 

"Thanks, sweetheart, but I'd best wait for the boss." 

There was no way Karen was going to inflict this pasty-faced baboon on Sydney. "Mr. Little, to begin with, my name is Ms. Petrusky, not _Babe_ or _Sweetheart_. And Professor Fox has instructed me to gather any preliminary information so all our ducks are in a row for when the professor arrives." She smiled, speaking through gritted teeth. 

He pulled his too-small suit jacket around him. "Ducks?" he asked. 

"Ducks, Dick. Spill it." 

He cleared his throat. "Well, since you work for Professor Fox and all, I suppose it can't hurt to tell you. It won't help you, but at least you'll know. I'm cursed." 

"I'm sure you are." It was the most sincere thing she'd said since he entered the room. 

"And I need Professor Fox to help me lift the curse." 

"Curse? What curse?" 

The now-familiar British accent still captured Karen's immediate attention. "Nigel, hi. This is Little Dick." 

Nigel paused, pursing his lips. "I'm… going to let that one go." 

"Actually the name's Little, Dick Little. The little lady got a bit confused. I'm a dick." 

A tic developed at the corner of Nigel's mouth, where none existed before. "You've convinced me," he deadpanned. 

"Rocky Evans School of Private Investigating, class of '97!" Little threw out his chest, and for a moment it looked like the buttons on his shirt wouldn't be up to the challenge of his belly. 

By now, Nigel's eyes were watering. "Would you excuse me?" The British scholar rushed into Sydney's office, closed the door, and burst into guffaws. 

"He always reads the comic strips in Sydney's office. Today's a good day for the funnies," Karen offered by way of explanation. She was proud of herself. She never cracked a smile. 

Unfortunately, Little refused to part with any more details on his "predicament" and refused to leave. He was unilaterally cheerful, and within fifteen minutes Karen didn't want to maim him any more. 

She wanted to murder him. 

In that same fifteen minutes, Nigel beat a path between his desk and Sydney's office. 

By the time Sydney finally arrived, Karen was searching for the relic hunter's miniature crossbow, and Nigel was close to hyperventilation from nonstop laughter. 

Ever the professional, Sydney greeted her visitor with a professional smile. "I'm Professor Fox, and you are -?" 

"Little Dick!" chorused Karen and Nigel. 

It was the first time that Little lost his perpetual smile. "Dick Little," he corrected. "But I'm afraid you can't help me. You're a woman." 

Karen glimpsed the nuclear detonation behind Sydney's brown eyes. 

"You have a problem with women?" Sydney asked, a dangerous edge in her voice. 

"Unfortunately, yes. You see, I'm cursed. When I turn on the old Little charm, women can't resist me. They mob me, in fact. I started a riot at Grand Central Station two days ago. I can't control it. I have to find a way to break the curse, but you can't do it because you're a woman, and you're probably already under my spell." 

This time, it was a three-way race for Sydney's office. Karen, Nigel, and Sydney doubled over with laughter. Karen heard Little observe cheerfully, "Must be a really, really good day for the funnies. I need to get a paper."

In the end, Sydney agreed to look into the curse that Little claimed to have afflicted him. Nigel presumed she was just being polite. "Thank goodness," he sighed, easing into his chair as Little's not-so-little figure retreated down the hall." "Back to business. Now, what's on the agenda for today?" 

Sydney cocked an eyebrow. "What do you mean, what's on the agenda? Nigel, surely your memory span is longer than that!" 

He snapped his fingers. "Oh my God, that's right! Matter of fact, the lecture on the Persian Empire begins in less than an hour. I've got your notes, but I think Karen has the transparencies for the overhead projector. You're supposed to be there at least twenty minutes early, too, so they can adjust the microphone levels." Picking up a neat stack of note cards, he stood and held them out to her. "They should all be in order." 

"Oh, no! I have to cancel the lecture." 

Nigel blinked. "What?" He wasn't sure he'd heard right. 

"I have to cancel the lecture. Our priorities have changed, Nige. Go with the flow." 

Knowing he didn't want to hear the answer, he asked anyway. "And if not the lecture, what exactly is our priority now?" 

Sydney scooted into the chair he just abandoned and she spun it on its axis. "Mr. Little needs our help." 

"No," Nigel corrected, lifting a finger to indicate a pause. "No-no-no." He peered at her over his glasses. "Mr. Little doesn't need our help. The help of a good psychiatrist, maybe. The help of a diet doctor, to be sure. But he doesn't need _our_ help." 

Horror registered on her face and she stopped spinning. "Listen, Nigel, this poor, sweet man came to us for help, and we're going to help him." She crossed her arms in front of her and lifted her chin. "Didn't you hear him? He's desperate." She added with a giggle, "And he said I'm the best." 

"I don't believe it." Nigel plopped into a chair, his jaw slack. She was actually tittering like an adolescent. "This is not happening. I cannot and will not believe that 'Little Dick' is irresistable to women. Certainly not to you. Sydney, you're a beautiful, sophisticated woman. You saw him. He's a charter member of Geeks-R-Us. He's..." He sputtered, searched for the right word. "He's a complete _loser!"_

With a heavy sigh, Sydney rose, filled two styrofoam cups with coffee, and handed one to her teaching assistant. She leaned over and brushed a kiss over Nigel's cheek, and he relaxed. _Of course._ She was merely playing a game, and he'd practically fallen over himself to take the bait. 

"I'm sorry, Nigel. How could I be so insensitive? It's only natural that you'd be jealous of a man like Dickie." 

Hot coffee poured down his shirt as he tipped the cup without seeing it. He jumped to his feet, yelping, pulling the superheated – and now stained – fabric away from his chest. _"I am not jealous of Dickie!"_ he shouted, then amended, _"Of Mr. Little!"_

Sydney shrugged and turned away, striding to the massive oak bookshelves that lined the northernmost walls of her office. Her slender fingers skipped through the rows of books, until she found the volume she was seeking. Plucking it free, she headed for her office, thumbing through the yellowed pages. Nigel was on her heels, incredulous. 

"Casanova, Casanova... Man, this book is lame. It doesn't even mention the curse of Casanova, just that he had a reputation." 

When she moved into her chair and began to turn, Nigel had had enough. 

He leaned forward, caught the arms of the chair to freeze it in place, and moved in until his face was inches from hers. Enunciating every word, he said, "It doesn't mention it because _it_ doesn't exist. You know that, Sydney. We did our homework two years ago when hunting for Casanova's Book of Love. We'd have turned up something then, don't you think?" 

"Not necessarily," she argued. 

"Sydney!" 

Reluctantly she conceded, "Oh, you're probably right. But something's wrong with Dickie and he needs our help. If you don't want to help, fine. I'll take care of this on my own." 

He grumbled, "What's wrong with Mr. Little is that he's full of sh-" 

_"Nigel!_ Are you going to help me or do I go alone?" 

Many a day he wished he'd been given the chance to decline a relic hunt. But looking at the dreamy expression on Sydney's face, he wasn't about to let her take any trip without him. 

"I'm going with you," he replied firmly.


	2. Be careful what you hunt for

**_2.  Be careful what you hunt for..._**

"He said he hasn't been overseas, so this shouldn't be so hard." 

Nigel glanced up at his boss and reminded himself that he'd agreed to help. Inside the doughboy's untidy apartment, they rifled through records that Little hoped would lead them to a "cure". Little was gone for the moment, at least, much to the Englishman's relief. It did ungodly things to Nigel's digestive system to see Sydney fawning over their "client", as she now referred to Dick Little. 

Suddenly, a new thought emerged. "Sydney, how are you going to justify this to the university?" he asked with a smug grin. 

"Karen's already taken care of it. I mean, we know there's a relic, right?" 

"No," he countered, "We don't. All we know is that Mr. Little says he's cursed. Maybe he is, I dunno. Maybe he crossed a voodoo practitioner, or a disgruntled wizard. Perhaps he infuriated some mystical creature we never even heard of. Or maybe he's just plain nuts!" 

She pouted. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like Dickie. I allow for some jealousy, but I won't have you saying negative things about him.." 

"I am not jealous of Mr. Little… Dickie!" he shrieked. He slammed his palms onto the desk, setting off a whirlwind of receipts and fast-food wrappers. "I don't truly even dislike him." Loath him, revile him, despise him. Nope, no dislike on the list. 

"Oh, wait. He went to San Francisco a couple of months ago. Here's his credit card record." Sydney pushed the page into Nigel's hand, pointing to a line near the bottom. 

Sure enough, sandwiched between a long list of charges for 900 numbers, the statement recorded round-trip airline tickets. If the guy's so good with women, what's with the high-toll calls? "Isn't that when he said all of this began?" Nigel asked. In spite of himself, the first bit of tangible evidence intrigued him. "San Francisco... What's there?" His mind spun through the possibilities. He had to admit, the City by the Bay held more than its share of secrets. 

All sorts of secrets. 

"Sydney, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco?" The first glimmer of memory sent him back to her bookshelf. Withdrawing a heavy text on China, he performed a quick search through the index. "Aha! The Ai is the Chinese symbol of love. I recognize it. Your 'Dickie' had one of these attached to an ID bracelet, on a small pendant of some sort. If he visited the museum or Chinatown, he might have purchased it there." 

"Mmmmm... I like the sound of that," Sydney purred, stretching her limbs. 

"The sound of what?" 

She giggled, "My Dickie." 

Nigel's midsection lurched in protest. 

========================

The further removed from Trinity University, the more Sydney felt like herself. By the time their plane landed in San Francisco, the old Sydney was back in full force. 

"I said that?" she asked, appalled. "Please tell me it was under hypnosis. Or that I was drugged. Or held at gunpoint, and and hysterical amnesia blocked out the terror!" If she hadn't heard the micro-cassette recording, she wouldn't have believed it. Even with the tape, she wasn't altogether convinced. Then again, if Nigel was pulling her leg, he was doing a perfect job of hiding it. She buried her face in her hands, shuddering, glad her colleague was driving. 

"Not as far as I know. Certainly not at gunpoint, though I hadn't thought of drugs or hypnosis. But Little didn't strike me as the sort to deal with any sort of drugs, and if there were hypnosis involved I think someone would have noticed. I think it's the charm. He said he bought it from a little Chinese grocery in Sausalito." Nigel reached out and touched her shoulder. "Are you all right? Do I need to pull over?" 

She was feeling a little queasy and light-headed, but chalked it up to the distressing revelations. "I'm okay. It's just… so bizarre. What about Karen?" 

"She's as enthralled by our Casanova impostor as you were. I couldn't even pry her away, since she wanted to be there if 'Dickie' came back." He gave her a lopsided smile. "When I grilled her about it, she said the same thing you did, that I was jealous. It was really quite nauseating." 

Their rental jeep wove through heavy traffic, undulating over the steep hills of San Francisco. Every once in a while they caught a breathtaking view of the Bay. A brisk wind whipped the water into froth-topped waves. Finally, they pulled onto the Golden Gate Bridge, unable to ignore the crimson swoops and lines of its construction. Its grandeur against a perfect blue sky required admiration, relics be damned. Just beyond the bridge, city gave way to redwood splendor as thick stands of the evergreens speared up from the earth. 

Fresh air poured through the windows, its ocean-tinged scent fresh and clean, and Sydney didn't mind the traffic delays that let them drink in the natural beauty of the region. 

"Penny for your thoughts." Nigel prompted. She sensed that he, too, was more at ease now than when they left. 

From the time she was a child, she loved traveling the mid- and northern Pacific coast. "My dad used to drive us up the Pacific Coast Highway at least once every summer. I never told anyone, but a little part of me still believes that the natural wonders here cleanse some buried part of my soul. If I come here enough, I feel like it would wash away every fault, every base instinct, every sin. Silly, isn't it?" 

"Not at all. I think it's rather poetic. I can understand why you love it. You know, I love England, too. I love the home where I grew up. But this..." His eyes flickered between the road and the magnificent forest. "This is magical. I don't know any other word for it." 

This time it was Sydney who reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. "I think magical pretty well sums it up." 

The turnoff to Sausalito took them back into the urban world, a world of stairstep homes built with geometric precision over the slopes, and of small shops and boutiques tucked alongside the narrow roads. "Is that it?" he asked, tilting his chin to indicate a small storefront, its weathered shingles brightened by a red sign written both in English and in Chinese. 

"That's it. Let's hope they can help us, and that they have the antidote." 

Nigel's agreed, "I hope so, too. I don't think my stomach will take much more of Dickie."

====================

"Oh my God…" Inside the shop, literally thousands of silver charms hung from wires that stretched along the outer walls. Sydney exchanged a glance with Nigel, a wordless communication that said: Hope somebody has a map for these things! They moved down along the far left wall, eyes skimming over small hand-lettered signs that marked off the categories. 

Peace. Home. Wealth. Health. Revenge. Strength. Honor... Each framed square identified some intangible facet of life. Sydney couldn't help wondering who would purchase some of them. She brushed her fingernails through a selection beneath the sign that read, Love. Was it her imagination, or did her fingertips tingle? Then, recalling the extreme effect of the charm on Dick Little, she yanked her fingers back and looked around desperately for a charm for solitude! 

"Can I help you?" A tiny middle-aged Asian woman greeted them, smiling broadly. "You looking for something special? We have all sorts of beautiful things. Books on fung shui, lots of charms and potions, lots of luck. You need luck, yes?" Her glossy black hair was rolled into an intricate knot at the back of her head, secured with a set of carved ivory chopsticks. Sydney suspected they were real ivory, very old and very valuable. The shopkeeper wore deep burguundy silk, a flowing tunic and trousers more reminiscent of Chinese style than truly authentic. 

Nigel interrupted, "Actually we're looking for a charm. A love charm, looks like this?" He held out a sketch of the symbol. He held his fingers a short distance apart. "It's about this big, roughly five millimeters thick." 

The light from the front window barely made it past the front register. Further back, paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, delicate paintings on rice paper that framed modern bulbs. The effect was pretty, but not very practical. Near the back wall, it was like working in candlelight. Then again, at the moment, there enough wattage in her assistant's shy smile to illuminate everything around him. 

The Asian woman looked at him askance. "You need a love charm? You don't look like you need a love charm. Is something wrong with you? We have ginsing and other medicine, will fix you right up!" 

Sydney turned away, suddenly focused on a shelf full of jade frogs. She smothered the urge to giggle. 

"No, no, there's nothing wrong with me," Nigel countered with a nervous laugh. "We're looking something for a friend." 

The shopkeeper rolled her eyes and sniffed, "Always for a friend. I tell you, you don't need that love charm. That's for the hopeless. You're not hopeless." 

"Thank you," he sighed. Did Sydney detect weariness, or was it something more? "Glad to hear it. It really isn't for me, though. I give you my word." 

"Your girlfriend is no ugly mug, either. Something wrong with her?" 

That was Sydney's clue to step in. "No, nothing wrong with me either. We know someone who purchased one of these industrial strength charms. It does seem to have lived up to its name. He calls it a curse. He said it doesn't matter whether he wears it or not now. What I'm hoping is that you know a way to counter it. It is becoming a real problem." 

"Ah. The doughboy." 

"You remember him?" Sydney asked, surprised. It had to be the same person. 

"Remember him? You could say that. He pissed me off. He was very annoying. He was driving me nuts. He asked for the maximum charm. I tried to talk him out of it, but the customer is always right. But I wonder, because my husband - who made the charm using authentic ancient Chinese spells –" her quick interjection was pure salesmanship " - was acting very funny. Said he didn't like that man. Said the doughboy didn't need a woman, he needed a harem, and wouldn't know what to do with them when he had them. Very odd thing for him to say." 

"Maybe not so odd," Nigel mused. He smiled again at their hostess. "Listen, do you suppose we could speak to your husband?" He was really turning on the charm, Sydney noticed. He could certainly do a number on a woman when he wanted to, despite his occasional fumble in matters of the heart. 

The shopkeeper shook her head. "No. I will soon close the store. No more charms. He doesn't make them any more. No more husband." 

Sydney's face fell. "We're so sorry for your loss," she said softly. 

"What loss? He moved in with his cheap girlfriend. She can have him, the cantankerous old fart. I got the house and the car and the shop, and he got the bills. I sold the shop and am going to Bermuda with my hot young boyrfriend!" The older woman leaned forward and winked at Sydney. "Trust me. Always get a good lawyer!" 


	3. Hypothetically Yours

"Which way?" Nigel glanced at his watch. "It's going to be dark before long and it will be that much harder to find." He steered the jeep through hairpin turns, trying to keep one eye on the road and one on the street signs. It was a challenge, given that he also wanted to keep one eye on Sydney. 

"Left, and it should only be a couple of blocks. I just hope he has the antidote." 

They both spotted the house at the same time. It would have been pretty close to impossible to miss it. Among the sea of pale pinks, beiges, and whites, the fuschia and turquoise stucco stuck out like a sore thumb. "Well," Sydney commented, squinting up at the bright ochre door with its X-rated stained-glass window, "Looks like bad taste crosses all boundaries." 

"Apparently so," Nigel concurred. "Did a paint store explode?" In the last gasps of sunlight, the house practically gave off a neon glow. 

When attractive middle-aged black woman answered the door, Sydney pasted on her best professional smile. Nigel had seen it often enough to recognize it, and he matched it with one of his own. "I'm not sure we're at the right place," Syd explained. "We're looking for Xan Lo Xiang." 

"Oh, sure. Come on in, he's here. I'm Renee, his significant other." Renee opened the door wide and called back through the house, "Xan, honey, you've got company! It's those two kids Kim called about." 

Nigel blinked, trying not to stare. The differences were nearly imperceptible, but they were there. Renee could easily pass for female in most circles. Only his Adam's apple gave him away. Nigel wondered if the curves were the result of padding or of surgery, then squelched the thought. He definitely didn't want to know! 

Xan wasn't what they expected, either. The diminutive Asian man wore his silver hair in a long ponytail, and paint splattered the Hawaiian shirt and khaki trousers he wore. Bare feet finished his ensemble. Just visible from the threshold, an easel held a half-completed oil painting of the sun setting over the ocean. A very good painting, Nigel surmised. He didn't need an art degree to recognize the talent behind the work. 

Sydney introduced herself and Nigel, explaining their ties to the University and their shared area of expertise. Together, they described their current impasse, sketching out the far-reaching effects of the charm and asking for help. Meanwhile, the old man gestured for his guests to take a seat on the cushioned rattan sofa. He poured steaming jasmine tea into small porcelain cups, the handle-less variety traditional to Asian culture. He handed a cup to Sydney and Nigel and poured one for himself and Renee. 

Xan nodded throughout the narrative, interjecting an occasional question on the effects and the charm itself. 

"So can you help?" Sydney finally asked. 

"Nope." 

"No?" Nigel wasn't prepared for that. "Why on earth not?" 

"You think I sent that idiot out with a real charm? What I gave him was hollow aluminum filled with flour. It wasn't a love charm. The real thing would be wasted on him, and a disservice to the human race. Every woman within two thousand miles would be at risk!" 

"Were you working on a real charm at the time?" Sydney asked. There was a definite edge of desperation to her voice. 

Nigel automatically moved closer to her. He caught himself just in time to stop reaching for her hand. He figured it wouldn't look right to their hosts if his "girlfriend" beat him to a bloody pulp in their drawing room. 

"Come to think of it, I was. It was an original, one brought over from China by my great-grandfather. I was using it for a model to create the new ancient one. But there's no way I mixed them up." 

"Well, you must have gotten them mixed up, because this one works." Nigel's patience was at an end and his stomach was twisting into knots. "Did the old charms have the ability to make someone ill? I don't feel well, haven't since I met Dick Little." Normally the comforting scent of tea worked magic on his nerves, but this evening, nothing was working. 

Renee and Xan averted their eyes. Renee confessed, "It might, if he got the real one. It's sort of... illegal." 

"Illegal as in – oh my God!" Nigel ran one hand through his hair while clutching his stomach with the other. He began to pace, muttering half to himself, half to his captive audience. "It was filled with opium... The ancient Chinese used opium as an aphrodisiac!"* He doubled over, whooshing out a breath. "Illegal isn't the half of it. It's dangerous. In the right concentration, it could be deadly!" 

"It was very concentrated, but would only become dangerous if the seal were broken. It is very old, authentic Chinese medicine. Without it, a love charm is useless. But if it made you sick, it would make your girlfriend ill, too. And it would kill the wearer before it affected you this way. No, your problem is too much worry. You need to relax, go see a movie. Better yet, go visit the great outdoors! You're a teacher, always in the classroom. You should get out more!" 

Sydney interrupted, "Nigel, are you okay?" Her fingers curled under his chin and lifted his gaze to meet hers. Her concern did far more to restore him than the tea had done. 

Straightening, he replied, "Yeah, I think so. At least it's not the charm." 

A moment passed before she confessed, "I'm not so sure. I haven't felt well since we were flying over Phoenix." 

"What? I thought you were fine. You told me you were fine!" He accused in a loud whisper, "You lied to me, Sydney?" He had half a mind to wring her neck. Of course, knowing she could kick his ass went a long ways toward dissuading him from the notion. "You never lied to me before. Why didn't you tell me the truth?" 

"I'm sorry, Nigel," she whispered back, "I didn't lie to you. I thought it was just stress." 

Xan stepped in between them, peering at Nigel, then Sydney. "If you had enough opium to cause pains, your pupils would be constricted. It is just stress. Or you could have eaten too many tacos. I have just the thing to fix you up, an ancient Chinese recipe. It's called Pepto Bismol." 

"Thanks," Syd interjected, "But what we need is to counteract the love charm. It's screwing up a whole lot of lives. 

"Well, there is one possibility," mused Xan, "But it won't be easy." 

==============================

Tinny voices echoed through the office, voices that spoke in the carefully-modulated tones of practiced professionalism. "And in local news, a Boston man claims responsibility for the wave of riots along the Eastern Seaboard. Police now say that sixty-seven people have been admitted to hospitals thanks to the violence in the all-female altercations. Two hundred women are in custody, after each one claims allegiance to an entity known only as 'Dickie'. ' 

"Analysts speculate that Dickie may be an underground new wave guru, though psychologists express concern at the sudden and widespread influence of a man who has created such a stir. In what has been dubbed 'the Dickie Syndrome," normally stable women have left home and family in search of the elusive being. The FBI is investigating the phenomenon, which officials say parallels a large-scale brainwashing. They fear the encroachment of a different kind of terrorism, one aimed at destablizing the country's intellectual pool. These women all claim to love 'Dickie' and claim that their particular deity loves them in return.' 

"But 37-year-old Richard Little says he's Dickie, and that he is actively attempting to halt the unwanted advances of every woman within a thousand miles." 

Karen clicked off the radio, rolling her eyes. "Unbelievable!" she muttered. "Imagine, fantasizing about Dickie!" 

She picked up a stack of mail, sorting through it, then glanced at the corner of her desk, admiring her new nameplate. She picked it up, running a finger over the engraved brass and reading aloud, "The future Mrs. Dickie Little." She sighed, shaking her head. "Imagine the nerve of them , when it's obvious he's mine!" 

When the phone rang, she dove across the glossy desktop, capturing the receiver and gushing into the mouthpiece, "Dickie?" 

But her euphoria was short-lived. "Oh, hi Sydney." Crestfallen, she slumped into her chair, twirling blond curls around her fingers in an attempt to bury her disappointment. "No… Dickie isn't here." Jealousy flared, knotting in her stomach. "What exactly do you want with my man, anyway?" After a pause, she relaxed. "Oh… Well, of course. Where is it?" 

She slipped a key into Sydney's office door and turned the knob, Karen skimmed blue eyes over the papers that were fanned across her boss's desk. "What exactly am I looking for...?" She reached into the stack, retrieving a wrinkled parchment covered with spidery lines. "Yeah, I found it. But I can't fax it to you. It's too big... Wait, I have an idea." She recalled one of Nigel's stories, something about a previous hunt in Europe. 

She set the receiver on the desk and expertly flipped the old map onto the glass of the office copy machine, pressing a button. 

Five minutes later she faxed the map to her waiting colleagues, sending it in a jigsaw puzzle of twelve overlapping segments. When the phone rang, she dove across her desk, grabbing the receiver and gushing into the mouthpiece, "Dickie?"

==============================

"You know, Sydney, we've been underground before, in some pretty deep places. But I think this might just be the all time record." 

As they threaded their way through the crowd, Sydney agreed. "Any lower and we'd have to be treated for the bends." 

Nigel maneuvered around a 400-pound drag queen. The large man wore a blue satin dress, glitter eye shadow, a dark wig, and sliver spiked heels that kept him unsteady, as though tottering on the brink of a fall. The much smaller Englishman shuddered at the other man's leering response. "Let's not mention the word bends while we're in this room, shall we, Syd?" 

Sidestepping a tall, lanky entry in purple boa and neon pink wig, she replied, "Deal." Smoke hugged every pore, and the sour reek of cheap alcohol and human wastes threatened to steal away any breath left behind by the smoke. "I'm thinking we're underdressed for this party. Unless you've got some secret desire to participate in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, let's get what we need and get out." 

Overhead, a disco ball threw off uneven reflections of dozens of colored lights, yet brick receded into shadow and little illumination reached the bare cement floor. A cacophony of disco and country music competed for superiority, each side blaring at ear-splitting levels. They made no attempt to keep their comments quiet. It took a shout from two inches away for them to communicate with each other. Sydney privately figured any of the regulars here had to be stone deaf, anyway. 

She consulted the map segment Karen had faxed earlier. Tracing it with her finger, she sighed. "This has to be the place. The architecture is Victorian, the correct era, the location is right. There has to be a hidden passage to a sub-basement somewhere!" 

A light tap on her shoulder broke her attention and Nigel pointed to a beaded curtain, its colors set aglow by a blacklight. Above and around the doorway, someone had painted scenes from a Bacchanal orgy. Ornate calligraphy declared: The Sub-Basement/Trespassers Will Be Violated/Welcome Trespassers! Nigel remarked drily, "I think we've found the hidden passage." 

=========================

Sydney briefly entertained the thought that there might be some things worse than being terminally in love with Dick Little. The thought lasted just as long as it took to conjure up a picture of Little in the altogether. 

"Ladies first," her companion offered with a fanciful flourish. 

"Gee... Thanks, Nige." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. She flounced ahead of him, tossing over her shoulder, "If you want to stay behind, I understand. There are so many fascinating people in this place." 

She counted to three before he passed her on the narrow staircase. 

The rickety wooden steps creaked with each footfall, much to Sydney's chagrin. She didn't like announcing to anyone below that company was on its way. It didn't help that they were heading into pitch darkness. She pulled out her flashlight. Its narrow beam did little to dispel an unease that grew exponentially as they descended. Wrinkling her nose, she told herself that it wasn't really brimstone she smelled. 

========================== 

_*This is actually true, the ancient Chinese really did use opium as an aphrodisiac. I know, I said I didn't study up for this fic. I lied, lol. _


	4. All's Well That

What the hell was he _thinking?_ Nigel took a tenuous step down, cringing at the resultant squeak of the old wood. He wasn't a born leader. He wasn't a leader at all, yet here he was at the head of a very abbreviated queue. 

Something brushed across his face and he shrieked. Wherever it touched, the icy material left a thick stench and a slimy residue on his skin. He derived no satisfaction in knowing that Sydney echoed his scream only a fraction of a second behind him. He swung the flashlight up, giving a clear view of a shroud of nearly transparent threads. "Spider webs," he announced, regaining a modicum of dignity. "It's only spider webs." 

Sydney repeated in dubious tones, "Spider webs..." She reached up and touched a section of the filaments and they melted away, stretching and clinging to her fingers like trails of spit. "Damned warped spiders, if you ask me." 

"Ugh... God, Sydney, that's disgusting." 

"Yeah, it is. And I don't think it's spider webs, either." 

Something in her voice set his nerves on edge. "Then what is it?" 

She turned her flashlight up, following the unidentified material to the ceiling. There, a thicker mat of the pale gray threads trailed from something large and clearly more than half rotted. "It's pretty far gone," she remarked. The large animal was suspended from the dirt ceiling by a rope net. 

The latest discovery was too much for Nigel's stomach. He half-stumbled, half-fell down the remaining few stairs, retching. His tumble diverted Sydney's attentions and she turned her flashlight on him. "You all right?" 

He nodded, cursing himself for his momentary weakness. You'd think after some of the things they'd seen, a dead dog wouldn't affect him so profoundly. "Yeah," he sighed. "Other than a disagreement with my stomach and a sense that we're in over our heads, I'm just peachy." He straightened, determined to focus on the job at hand. "What did Xiang say to look for?" As he spoke, he waved his flashlight, willing it to illuminate something recognizable within the seemingly impenetrable darkness. A door, a wall, _anything._

Something touched his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. It didn't help to turn and see a distorted face grinning at him. After his second near-heart attack in less than a minute, he realized that the face was Sydney, holding the flashlight at her chin with the sole intent of spooking him. "Oh, you're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he snapped. "Just a bloody laugh a minute." This place was really getting on his nerves, and Sydney wasn't helping matters. 

She shrugged. "Party pooper." 

Taking the lead, Sydney waved her flashlight like a sword, though Nigel didn't find its narrow beam much comfort. While he swore he saw something out of the corner of his eye a couple of times, no one showed up to interfere with their latest quest. The only good thing about this space was its apparent emptiness. 

And all of a sudden he wondered if maybe that wasn't a good sign. "Sydney, don't you think we should - " 

***********

In the space of a heartbeat, the world exploded around them. Light and flame shot from walls and ceiling and Sydney automatically threw up her fists in a defensive posture, leaning forward on the balls of her feet in anticipation of a fight. 

It took a full sixty seconds for her to realize that the flame was generated by a movie projector and the audience was staring at her with no small measure of annoyance. 

She and Nigel were standing at the far side of a raised dais, looking out onto a crowd who apparently migrated downward from the party. Most were drag queens, from the looks of it, though there were also some disaffected teenagers from both sides of the gender line. One diminutive girl in full goth mode stood and shouted, "If you're not with the troupe, get the hell off the stage, you morons! God, what idiots." 

From the subsequent wave of low grumbles, Sydney surmised that the rest of the audience shared the young critic's opinion. "Ah… " Sydney stammered, "Gee, thanks, I'll remember that. We were just passing through." 

She turned to Nigel, who in turn was reared back to stare at a giant of a man. The guy had to be seven foot tall, and despite his full beard, he wore a pink tutu and satin slippers. Very _large_ satin slippers. For a fraction of a second, Sydney's mind strayed to the old saying about the size of a man's feet, then she shook herself. The guy was in a tutu, for God's sake! 

Sydney grabbed Nigel's hand and dragged him off the stage and along the narrow side aisle, moving toward the curtained door at the back of the room. 

They made their way through a short passage and ran straight into a dead end, an underground blind alley. 

"Now what?" her colleague asked. "You dragged us into hell for nothing. For God's sake, Sydney, I think it's time we did things my way!" 

_"Your_ way? What way is that?" she snapped. His voice suddenly irritated her to no end, and she felt like slapping him. In the back of her mind, it occurred to her that there was something unnatural about the whole situation. Nigel had his moments, granted, but he normally didn't out-and-out annoy her. 

Understanding filtered through the buzz that scraped at her nerves like sandpaper. "They're here, Nigel. This is what we came for. The charms – they must be hidden somewhere close by. Help me look for a trigger, a hollow spot, anything. That's why we're acting like this. It's not who we are. It's not us." She turned to him and asked deliberately, "Do you trust me, Nigel? In the bottom of your heart, do you trust me?" Her last words were little more than a whisper. 

She saw him look inward, and the small measure of trust sent a wave of warmth through her. A dozen emotions flickered through his expressive hazel eyes, but he finally nodded. 

"Yeah… I do," he admitted. "I don't like you right now, but I trust you." 

"I don't care much for you at the moment, either, but it's the charms. I have to admit, I didn't really believe they existed, but now..." She traced her fingers over the seemingly blank surface of the cement, but her hand hit an uneven spot and she froze in place. "Wait. I found something." Her flashlight showed little more than a faint circle etched in the wall, but gut instinct told her it was more. She pushed, and was rewarded when the circle sunk back beyond her reach. She jumped back just in time as the blank wall swung outward. 

Something told her that its force would have been deadly had she not moved. Beyond the door, a glimmer of light trickled through a crack in a farther wall, throwing the tiny cubicle into twilight. The thin light did little to dispel her unease, but she stepped forward, knowing it was the only way to accomplish their goal. 

In the center of the room the light puddled in the murky, water-filled hollow of a stalagmite. The shallow stone bowl cupped two protrusions, and atop each of them was a small, dull charm. While nothing was visible, there was a tangible power that arced between them, shooting off power that reverberated through the room in a tone just below the audible range, setting nerves on overload. 

Nigel glanced at her, barely-disguised loathing in his eyes. "Shall we do this?" he snarled. 

"Damned straight," she retorted. "If you think you can handle it. Don't get yourself killed. You know how clumsy you are." 

His eyes narrowed and he tossed a small stone at the beam of light, triggering a spear that whistled by Sydney's ear. He sniffed, "I missed." 

Her knife sliced across space and struck the opposite wall. A matching spear clipped a hole in the sleeve of his shirt. She smiled sweetly. "I don't give up so easily." 

He shrugged, then skipped over a series of odd-shaped stones and clasped one of the two charms. "That's why I get there first." 

Loping behind him to clasp the second charm, she felt its cold effects roll through her veins. For a second, she considered killing her companion. There was an equivalent state of murder in his expression. "Well, it works on us," she sighed. "Let's get these things to that pathetic creature back home."

********

_San Francisco_

"Xan, my darling, don't you think we should have warned them?" 

Xan Lo Xiang glanced at his companion, whose five o'clock shadow showed even in the flickering candlelight from the Chinese lantern. He raised his lover's hand to his lips. "Warned them about what, Renee?" 

Renee leaned up on one elbow. "You know very well what I mean, you old coot. If I didn't love you so much I'd probably kick your ass. Those kids think they're solving their problem." 

A smile flitted over the old man's lips. "Well, they are. The moron problem will be fixed." 

"But they don't know- !" 

Xan shrugged. "They'll find out." 

********

Karen was used to hearing Sydney and Nigel disagree. She'd never before heard them get into a full-blown fight. And the gloves were off for this one. 

She shot a nervous glance at the hall doors, hoping Dickie didn't come in during the middle of this fiasco. Since their return from San Francisco, the only thing they did agree on was that they needed to see Dickie, and soon. He was on his way, and they were behaving like vultures, sniping at each other without mercy. 

The shades were drawn in Sydney's office, but nothing could block the dueling strings of four-letter words. 

Finally, Nigel stormed out, slamming Sydney's door with such vehemence that its window shattered. _"I'm_ not the one with the shitty attitude!" He yelled. _"I'm_ not the one who drags us all around the world just to get her jollies off by beating up some unsuspecting goon who doesn't know what he's getting into. _I'm_ not the one who throws her assistant aside like a dishmop when things get harried, not even asking if he's all right. It's _you!"_

Sydney followed hard on his heels, jabbing her finger into his breastbone. "Well I wouldn't throw you around if you pulled your own weight! I have to defend not only myself, but you. And you have the audacity to whine about it, you ungrateful twerp! I should leave your skinny little ass out in the jungle and see how far you get without me!" 

"Well if it weren't for _you,_ my skinny little arse wouldn't _be_ in the jungle, now, would it?" 

"Come on, Sydney, Nigel. You don't mean those things. You guys like each other. You're partners, buddies. You're a team!" Karen stepped in between them, placing a hand in the middle of each chest. "You don't really want this, do you?" 

From both sides came a vehement, _"Butt out!"_

Adding to her nightmare, Dickie chose that moment to barrel through the door. Haggard and disheveled, he clearly hadn't seen a razor in days. And from the looks of it, he hadn't slept in days, either. His tattered shirt was smeared with a hundred shades of lipstick, most of which trailed onto his neck and face. Much to Karen's dismay, he didn't even give her a second look. He headed directly for Sydney and Nigel. 

"You gotta help me!" he sniveled. "Women are beasts! Please tell me you found a way to counteract this stupid charm!" 

Sydney slapped a tarnished charm into his hand. "Here. Wear this one. It's certainly opened my eyes!" 

She glared at Nigel, who tucked a second and equally discolored talisman into the other pudgy fist. "You'd better take this one, too. Hers can't cut it alone. It needs mine." The teaching assistant snarled the last words. "And don't ever let these leave your person or you're screwed all over again!" 

The instant the second charm touched Dickie's hand, Nigel and Sydney stumbled back as though struck, their eyes glazed and their breath coming in little gasps. 

Dickie repeated, in the exact same key of whine, "You gotta help me! Women are beasts! ! Please tell me you found a way to counteract this stupid charm!" 

A sudden shiver ran through Karen's body. When it was over, she blanched. Where was her sweet Dickie, the blond Adonis with the rippling muscles and the gorgeous sun-bleached tresses? In his place stood a tubby man who looked for all the world like the Pillsbury Doughboy sprung to life. 

Dickie apparently noticed the expression on Sydney's and Karen's faces. "Do either of you want to go out with me?" he ventured timidly. 

Karen shuddered. "I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last toadstool on earth." 

"Don't look at me, I only date from my own planet!" Sydney snapped. 

Nigel immediately ducked behind Sydney. "Well don't bloody look at me!" he squeaked in indignation. 

Dickie let out a howl of triumph that reverberated through the building. _"I'm free!_ You did it!" He threw out his arms to envelop Sydney and Nigel in a group hug, giving them each an enthusiastic kiss on their respective lips. Dickie then headed off through the hall of Trinity University, dancing – badly – to whatever bizarre music played in his head. 

The two relic hunters looked at each other and gagged. _"Ewwww!" _they exclaimed simultaneously. 

Sensing that things were finally resolved, Karen let out a long sigh. "Thank God! I thought things would never get back to normal around here!" She fell into her chair when she spied the name plate on her desk. _"Ewwww..."_ she added to the chorus. 

********

Nigel watched as Karen picked up the offensive plate with one finger and thumb and dropped it into the metal wastebasket beside her desk. "That is so disgusting! How could I possibly look at Dick Little when I have Nigel?" 

He straightened. While he knew she had a bit of a crush on him, Karen wasn't normally quite so abvious about it. "Well, you don't precisely _have_ me, Karen, but thank you." 

"Really! How could anyone compare to _Nigel?"_

Karen was one thing. He turned, expecting a smirk on his boss's face. It floored him to see instead a dreamy look aimed at _him!_ Confused, he raised a hand to scratch his head. 

And his jaw dropped. 

There, dangling from his watch band, was a silver charm. The _Ai._ The love charm. "Oh _shit!"_ he breathed, horrified. "Sydney!" 

"What, Nigey-poo?" Sydney purred. 

"What about me, Tiger Dumpling?" Karen chimed in, batting her eyelashes in his general direction. 

He paused, pursing his lips, his eyes jumping from one woman to the other. 

Gradually, understanding dawned. He felt a slow, languorous smile spread across his face. Looping an arm around each of them, he drawled, "Well, I suppose San Francisco will still be there in a few days, now, won't it?" 

********

THE END


End file.
